Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 229. Four Ceremonies, One Promise

Greg turned and looked at everyone: the Brotherhood, the students who had crept to the edge of the slope, and Thomas in his kitchen apron, who had apparently come down to watch and was still holding a wooden spoon.

One hundred and fifty-six people who wanted to be here.

"Now we build," he said, "correctly. No more waiting for divine intervention on the horizon."

"We build families, futures, and real lives."

Greg's heart skipped a beat when Marina smiled. She looked at Lylia, then at Seraphine, then at Elwen.

All four of them had the look of people who had been planning something for a long time and were finally at the moment they had been waiting for.

"Speaking of building lives," Marina said.

Greg looked back and forth between them. "What's that?"

Lylia put her hands together, which she only did when she was being very clear. "We've been talking."

"For about three years," Seraphine said.

Elwen, as usual, went straight to the point. "We all want to marry you. All four of us."

Behind him, the ocean made a noise.

"What now...?" Greg asked.

"Not just the way things are now," Marina said. "Not just living together and being careful."

"You should probably know what 'married' is, right? It's committed, and with real ceremonies and all the weight of it, done right."

Lylia said, "We've worked out the logistics," and Greg had no doubt that this was true because Lylia was always so thorough.

"Four ceremonies, one promise, and traditions from each of our backgrounds."

Seraphine quickly added, "If you want to. We're not—"

"Yes," Greg said.

Elwen blinked. "Yes?"

He looked at all four of them and felt something he had been slowly learning to recognize over the past three years: the heavy weight of having more than he had ever expected and not knowing what to do with it except hold on tightly.

"Yes," he said again. "I want all of this."

"All of you, and I want mornings with Seraphine's research notes spread out on the table."

"I want Lylia's cooking."

"I want Marina to tell me I'm being an idiot before I've finished being one."

"I want Elwen's sketches and her unique way of making complicated things sound simple." His voice was shaking in a way that he didn't try to stop. "I want things to go back to normal, whatever that means for all four of you."

Marina kissed him, and the crowd that was watching from home started to clap and then got much louder.

...

In the months after the wedding preparations, Home changed in ways that building real buildings hadn't quite been able to do.

Thomas wrote a menu that needed three planning sessions and two test runs. Amara wrote four different ceremonial pieces and couldn't decide which one to use first.

So she started practicing them all at the same time in shifts that somehow worked.

Greg was in the workshop on a Thursday night, six months after the gods had left, making the rings. He had been thinking about them for weeks before he started.

There were four bands, each one different and each one holding something of the person it was made for. There was a small, steady piece of the Eternal Flame's heat in Marina's hand that felt warm to the touch.

Lylia's had one drop of the Ladle of Magical Dispersion's magic in it. It was preserved and changed into something that absorbed worry instead of spells.

From the moment she broke into the Fourth Circle, crystallized mana ran through Seraphine like ice in beneficial light. Elwen's was the one that took him the longest to choose.

It had threads from her family's destroyed weapons, and the metal had been broken down and put back together in a way that seemed right.

He was finishing the last one when the door to the workshop opened.

He didn't look up right away. People were always coming and going from the workshop.

It was that kind of place, but the footsteps stopped, and the silence that followed was the kind that made it clear that someone wasn't sure if they should be there.

He raised his head.

A girl in her twenties stood in the doorway. Her silver hair caught the light in a way he recognized, yet he couldn't pinpoint the reason.

Her golden eyes were wide and unsure, as if she were trying to get her bearings in a place she didn't know.

She was dressed like a maid, but the outfit didn't seem to be made of fabric. It was something that caught the light like mist and didn't stay still.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Her voice was soft and careful, like someone who wasn't sure how much to trust it yet. "I don't know why I came here..."

"I walked for a while and kept feeling like I was getting closer to something, but then this place appeared and the feeling stopped." She looked at the workshop walls, the tools hanging on hooks, and the forge with its low light. "It felt like home, but I don't know why."

She looked at Greg. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

There was a flicker in them, like a light coming on when someone else walked into the room.

"Do I know you?"

Greg's hands were still. The ring he had been working on was still warm in his hand.

He heard footsteps behind him that he knew without looking. He would have known Lylia's unique way of going through doorways anywhere.

She came in, stopped, and made a noise that was almost a word.

"Hey... Mira...?"

The young woman turned her head. Greg's chest hurt because he knew the gesture so well. "Is that my name?"

"I don't remember having a name." She put her hand on her chest, gently, like someone pressing on a bruise to see if it hurts. "I remember a feeling, though."

"Someone who forged things carefully..."

"She believed that creating something for another person was the most important thing you could do." Her eyes were bright in a way that suggested she didn't entirely understand why. "I don't know who I am or who you are."

She didn't seem to notice the tears running down her face.

"But I remember how this felt."

She stared at Greg.

"And this person."

Lylia put both of her hands over her mouth. Greg carefully put the ring down on the bench and stood up slowly, like you do when you're near something fragile.

...

Three years ago, on a clifftop in the first light of a world without gods, the First Forgemaster told him that spirits born from real love have a way of coming back. She might not remember what it was like to be Mira. But something will come back.

He said, "Your name is Mira," and his voice sounded steadier than it felt. "And you're home."

She looked at him for a moment with her gold eyes full of recognition but no memory. Then she looked at Lylia, and her expression changed from one of doubt to one that was moving toward certainty, like a compass needle settling north.

"Okay," she said in a soft voice.

"I think... I believe you."